


Prompt 31: Writers choice (soulmate AU)

by emmaknitsalot



Series: Flufftober 2020 [7]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bad Parent Robert Lightwood, Embedded Images, F/M, Fluff, Flufftober 2020, Gay Disaster Alec Lightwood, Good Parent Maryse Lightwood, M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Prompt Fill, Raphael/Isabelle/Simon if you squint really hard, Rating for swearing and non-sexual references to genitalia, Soulmates, They are each others nice things, alcohol use, mention of anxiety, mild homophobia, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28439106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaknitsalot/pseuds/emmaknitsalot
Summary: "Thick black lines had appeared in the vague shape of an eye (with epic winged eyeliner, he thought sleepily) and a swirled pupil. As he was squinting at it, it quickly faded into the usual tone that appeared when his tiny soulmate drew on their skin.It was time, he thought, to lug out his treasured copy of the Gray Book and start learning."Or, in a world where everybody has a soulmate and whatever they draw on their skin appears on yours, and vice versa, Magnus nearly has a breakdown when he learns his soulmate is a baby Shadowhunter.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Flufftober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961794
Comments: 24
Kudos: 326
Collections: Hunter's Moon Fic Recs





	Prompt 31: Writers choice (soulmate AU)

**Author's Note:**

> Flufftober 2020 prompts found at vex-bittys dot tumblr dot com.

Magnus had been waiting five hundred years for this. He had drawn flowers and plants and animals. He had drawn city skylines and written sonnets and sketched out whole stories. There was a year or ten where his entire body was covered in words and pictures, but still, none appeared on his skin by someone else’s hand.

Until now. Well. He hadn’t drawn on his skin for a good fifty years at least, a little too downtrodden by the lack of response. This drawing just appeared on its own as he was getting ready to go and celebrate the arrival of the Millenium with his friends. They were going to drink to excess, watch the ball drop, and stumble home when the sun came back up to sleep it all off.

He dropped his eyeliner pencil and stared at his forearm in horror.

Well, _shit._

*

In the end, he had opted to cover the new addition to his arm with foundation. He wasn’t ready to acknowledge it and he _definitely_ wasn’t ready for his friends to see it. He had to prepare himself. Maybe write a speech. Possibly go and hide in a cave for a few decades. There were options.

He didn’t, however, think about how sweat from dancing usually made his makeup run, and while the panda look at 4am was expected, and even tolerable, he was not prepared for the foundation on his arm to come off.

(To be fair, he didn’t usually put makeup on his arms, so it was understandable he had forgotten about it).

His options were about to run out.

“My friend,” a deep voice with a posh accent slurred at him as they waited in line for a cab. Magnus was very drunk, but he wasn’t so far gone as to think that attempting to make a portal was a good idea. “What the fuck is that on your arm?”

Magnus swayed. “Well,” he managed to say. “Arm hair is fairly common.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Magnus,” a much more sober voice snapped. “Your soulmate has finally drawn to you and you didn’t tell us!”

“I don’t care about that!” the posh voice said. Magnus was fairly certain it was Ragnor, but there were three of him weaving in and out of focus so he wasn’t willing to bet on it. “Look at it, Raphael! What does it look like?” Of course Raphael was the sober one, Magnus thought dumbly.

Ragnor (he wasn’t sure if it was one, two, or three but it also didn’t matter, he supposed) grabbed his arm and yanked it in front of Raphael’s face. Catarina and Dot were gazing at the shining street lights and weren’t paying them any attention at all. Raphael’s cool fingers traced lightly over the wobbly lines, making him shiver. In hindsight, he thought, he should have just worn long sleeves.

“It’s an _angelic rune_ , Raphael!” Ragnor shrieked. That sparked Catarina and Dot’s attention and while Raphael was staring at him, jaw dropped, Magnus had reached the end of his tether. He bent over, threw up in the gutter—and maybe a little bit on Ragnor’s shoes—and his vision went dark.

*

The first day of the new Millenium dawned cold and bright. Magnus didn’t remember getting home, of course, and the minute he saw his arms he was going to wish the world really did end like predicted. Unfortunately, the earth still turned, and Magnus felt like a marching band was stabbing his brain with their drumsticks. He regretted all the life choices that led him to this moment.

He dragged himself up and stumbled to his opulent bathroom, hoping that a shower would make him feel more alive. He caught sight of his arms out of the corner of his eye as he turned on the taps and nearly fainted. They were now absolutely covered in angelic power runes. He managed to count at least thirty of them and could follow from where they started at the original one on his forearm—they got less and less wobbly along the way. He was faintly proud of his little Shadowhunter soulmate, it being obvious now it was a child, practising their runes. He was also relieved because there was a moment or ten where he feared that he would permanently receive all the runes as they were burnt onto the Shadowhunter’s skin, and there was only so many years he could tolerate hiding in a cave. He _liked_ his soft sheets and indoor plumbing, thank you very much.

He stared at himself in the mirror concentrating very hard, bringing up a glamour to hide the marks on his skin from view. One would have to know they were there to be able to spot them. He would not be waltzing into meetings as High Warlock covered in _runes_ , he would not. And maybe he could just avoid looking at himself for a few years until he was ready to accept it. Yes. That was a grand idea.

*

“Mama,” eight-year-old Alec said, tugging on Maryse’s hand. “How come my soulmate doesn’t draw too?” Isabelle, just a few years younger, was covered in wobbly hearts and lopsided daisies but Alec’s skin was as bare as the day he was born, bar his own scribblings. He was getting much smoother with the lines of his runes. He had also now memorised about a third of the Gray Book. He was diligent even at eight.

“Well sweetheart, they might not be born yet,” Maryse said. “Or they might be waiting until they can write or draw something really really good to impress you. My soulmate didn’t write to me until I was eleven.”

Alec looked at her seriously. He was such a stoic little boy. “So I should be patient then Mama?”

Maryse smiled fondly. “Yes, be patient. They will draw eventually.”

“What did Papa draw for you first?” Alec asked. Before Maryse could answer, Isabelle ran up to excitedly show them a new drawing that had appeared on her hand. Some points were longer than others but it was a fairly good attempt at a six-pointed star.And to Maryse’s relief, Alec’s question was forgotten.

*

Much to Magnus’ disgust, avoiding looking at himself was not very successful. The thing was, he _liked_ looking at himself. What exactly was the point of putting so much effort in if he didn’t get to enjoy it along with the strangers on the street? Ragnor would call him vain, and Magnus shamelessly agreed.

It had been five years since the first wobbly angelic rune had shown up. He had so far managed to hold himself back from drawing in return. And today Magnus was rudely awoken in the middle of the day by a warm sensation on the back of his hand. He groggily squinted at his hand, hoping that it wasn’t on fire.

(It wouldn’t be the first time).

Thankfully, it was only tingling.

Thick black lines had appeared in the vague shape of an eye (with epic winged eyeliner, he thought sleepily) and a swirled pupil. As he was squinting at it, it quickly faded into the usual tone that appeared when his tiny soulmate drew on their skin.

It was time, he thought, to lug out his treasured copy of the Gray Book and start learning.

*

Alec hadn’t stopped smiling all day. His first rune, _Voyance_ , had taken beautifully, to his and his mother and father’s delight. He’d chosen to have it put on the back of his hand. That way he could see it all the time. It hurt, of course, oh, how it had burned, but he was a strong Shadowhunter and so grit his teeth and bore it. He was glad he did because the pain faded pretty quickly after it was drawn. He was chomping at the bit to go and start fighting demons already but obviously, he had quite a bit of training to go through first.

He took himself to bed later that night, exhausted after a day of eating entirely too much cake and talking to entirely too many strangers. He reached down to pull his blankets up when he noticed a smudge on his hand next to his brand new rune. He switched the lamp on to see better.

It was just one word written in a spidery cursive copperplate: _Congratulations_.

He smiled and traced it lightly with a finger, a tension he didn’t even realise he had lifted from his shoulders. He had a soulmate. He wondered what they were like, as his eyes drooped shut and he fell asleep sprawled out under the blanket like a starfish.

*

Since his ill-thought-out decision to congratulate his tiny soulmate (he would have to stop calling them tiny soulmate in his head, because he at least had some vague idea of how old they were now) Magnus hadn’t written any more. He just felt weird writing to a child, and besides, he didn’t want to accidentally draw or write something that made it obvious he was a Downworlder. He knew how Shadowhunters would feel about _that,_ though he hoped his soulmate was different. They’d have to be, to be his soulmate, wouldn’t they? Either way, he didn’t want his soulmate to get in trouble. (Not that one could help who their soulmate was anyway, that was the whole point).

Before his thoughts spiralled too far, Magnus told himself to forget about it, at least for a couple more years. All he had was time, after all.

*

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood. What exactly do you mean you are gay?” His father’s face was steadily turning purple, though he managed to keep his voice at a reasonable volume and pitch.

“Ooo, you got the full name treatment, _Alexander,”_ Jace sniggered from beside him. They had rarely been seen without the other since Jace was adopted a few years prior.

“Shut up,” Alec hissed at him, elbowing him sharply in the side.

Their father’s face was now so purple Alec was faintly concerned he would actually explode. “Alexander. Please tell me,” he gestured vaguely at the two of them. “Please tell me you two aren’t romantically involved. Please.”

Alec and Jace immediately looked to each other in horror. “Ew, no,” they said simultaneously.

“Gross dad,” Alec said. “He’s my brother, and my parabatai.” Alec wouldn’t lie to himself (and his father certainly didn’t need to know) that there was a few months back when Jace first arrived that Alec had hoped against all odds that Jace was his soulmate, the one who had only ever written one thing to him after his rune ceremony. It became clear very quickly that he was not, however, when one day Jace showed up to training covered in beautifully drawn eyes. It seemed his soulmate was an artist. Jace was also painfully heterosexual and didn’t shower nearly as often as he should, so Alec now felt like he’d dodged a bullet. He would never regret accepting Jace’s proposal that they become parabatai though. They were now literally inseparable, soulmates on purpose, and Alec felt like even if he never got to meet his romantic soulmate, he’d be okay because Jace would always be there in his heart and by his side.

“Well that’s something,” Robert was saying. “I’d hate to have to get you de-runed, Alexander,” he continued. “It would forever tarnish our family’s name. So will this. So do _not_ tell anyone else, especially your mother. She will have an aneurism. I will immediately start looking for a suitable girl for you, you are sixteen, you should be dating now anyway.” He zoned out to flick through his mental little black book and the purple of his face faded to a slightly less angry pink flush. 

“Dad,” Alec began.

“What about the Penhallow girl? You always got along well.”

“Dad.”

“Oh or the Branwell girl! She’s pretty and smart and from a good family.”

“Dad!” Alec yelled, finally. Jace was just looking on in amusement, the asshole.

“What, Alexander?” Robert spat. “This is the future of our family name we are talking about! Your little phase will fade with time, you’ll see.”

“Dad, it’s not a phase,” Alec said, resigned. “And I’m waiting for my soulmate.”

“Of course it’s a phase. You are only sixteen, you can’t possibly know yet that you like, that you like—“

“Dick, dad,” Alec deadpanned.

“Oh don’t be revolting,” Robert said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It is a phase, and you will get over it. And soulmates are a load of rubbish.” His tone left no room for argument.

“Jace,” Alec said loudly.

“Yes brother,” Jace replied.

“You’re only sixteen. How do you know that you like girls already?”

“Boobs, bro. Boobs.”

“Gross.” Alec shuddered theatrically. “See dad, not a phase. End of discussion. I’m sorry this is embarrassing to you, but I’m still your son and I’m still a damn good Shadowhunter. I’m not going to go and announce it to the whole Clave, so don’t worry about that.” And with that, he turned and stalked off to his room, Jace following not far behind, and Robert stared after them gobsmacked, as the door slammed shut.

*

Meanwhile, just a few miles away on the other side of the East River, Magnus felt a painful pang in his chest.

*

“Alec!” Jace exclaimed as soon as Alec’s bedroom door shut behind him “That was awesome! How do you feel?”

“Sick,” Alec wheezed. He was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, the adrenaline making his jittering heart feel too big for his chest. He had been sitting on that one for a while. He told Jace first, of course, mostly because Jace could feel something was up through their parabatai bond and asked him about it, but also because he couldn’t imagine telling anyone else first, even Izzy. He told Izzy second, and she went with him just the other day to tell their mother. Maryse wasn’t ecstatic, but she also didn’t have an aneurism like his father was so sure she would, or try to think of girls he could date. She had placed her warm hands on his shoulders and said ‘well Alec, this isn’t what I had hoped for you but you are still my son. I’ll need some time to get used to it, can you be patient?’ Of course Alec could be patient, he’d been patient his whole life waiting for his soulmate to write and he was doing quite well at that. Mostly.

“It’ll pass bro, just breathe, it’s all fine.” Jace awkwardly patted him on the back as Alec leant forward to drag air into his lungs.

“What if it doesn’t pass, Jace! What if he kicks me out? What if he tells everybody? We will be separated! I don’t know if I can do that!” His breathing was coming heavier and faster and Jace was getting a little bit concerned.

“Alec, Alec!” he yelled, making Alec jump. “Alec, my brother, my parabatai, for whither thou goest I shall go, remember? Stronger than wedding vows. Also he can’t kick you out, he doesn’t even live here. And he definitely won’t tell everybody, come on man, think!” Jace looked like he was about ready to slap Alec.

Alec stared at him wide-eyed. “You’re right.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“Absolutely not.” Alec had started to breathe normally and the shaking was lessening.

“Do you wanna go punch something?”

“Can it be you?”

“Sure.”

Alec took in one last deep breath and went into his closet, smirking at the irony, to get changed into his training gear. Whaling on a heavy punching bag sounded _awesome_ right about now. He idly wondered if Izzy would like to join them, and he didn’t notice the words appearing on his outer thigh as he pulled on his shorts.

*

Magnus fumbled for his phone with one hand while the other clutched at his chest. The pain was bearable, but still pain. It was also familiar, like a face in the crowd he recognised but couldn’t quite place.

“What,” Catarina’s dulcet tones greeted him shortly.

“Is that any way to greet one of your best friends?” Magnus replied. He was struggling to breathe and thought he did a pretty bang-up job of hiding it.

“You literally never call, Mags,” she said with a sigh. “You either dramatically show up in a portal or just as dramatically send fire messages. What’s wrong.”

“Are you very busy, Cat?” he asked. He supposed he should check that, she might be on shift at the hospital, though he would assume she just wouldn’t answer if so.

“Dinner break,” she said. “Now what’s wrong, you have three minutes.”

“Always so to the point, dear Catarina,” Magnus said, unsubtly avoiding the topic.

“Magnus.”

“Alright, alright. I think I am having a heart attack.”

“You are not having a heart attack.”

“How do you know that, Cat?” he wailed.

“Because, Magnus, warlocks _don’t have heart attacks._ Tell me your symptoms, quickly.”

“Tightness and crushing feeling in my chest, shortness of breath.”

“Is it radiating.”

“No.”

“Does moving or changing position ease the pain.”

“No.”

“When did it start.”

“Half an hour ago?”

“Are you having an anxiety attack, Magnus.”

“No—wait. Possibly? Actually, it does feel like that, yes.” Magnus frowned at his couch. “But I’m not anxious? I mean I don’t have anything to be anxious about?” Magnus was just getting more confused as the conversation went on. He was no stranger to anxiety, but for him, there was usually a triggering event. Today, there was not. There was a long sigh on the other end of the phone.

“Magnus, you are either having an episode of anxiety of your own or…your soulmate is.”

Magnus was silent for a moment. “You mean I can feel their emotions?”

“When they are strong enough, yes,” Catarina replied. “Surely you knew this.”

“I did not know this, Catarina. How did I not know this?” Magnus was experiencing his own anxiousness now. He paced the length of his living room, up, and back, and up again, to try and calm his racing heart.

Another long sigh. “Magnus darling, have you drawn or written to your soulmate since that rune appeared at the Millenium?”

“I…have yes. Once. Five or six years ago.”

“Magnus,” Catarina started exasperatedly. “Stop avoiding them. I understand they were a child for ages but surely they aren’t anymore. It’s been what, ten, eleven years? I suppose they could have been a baby at the time but I don’t think even Shadowhunters train their children quite that young. A baby would have just scribbled…” she trailed off. “Mags I need to go back to my shift. Promise me you’ll draw something for them? Please?” She went quiet for a moment. “You don’t understand just how lucky you are that you have a soulmate right now.”

Magnus immediately felt like a complete asshole. “I’m sorry Cat,” he said. “I’m a dick.”

“You are,” Catarina said. “But I love you anyway. Now go and write or draw something.” She hung up the phone.

Catarina had found and lost her soulmate on the same day, during the American civil war. She was a nurse, of course, and her soulmate had been septic for days before he arrived where she was stationed. Shrapnel embedded in his legs and back. She couldn’t save him, and Magnus was a selfish prick. He sighed and wandered into his study, selecting his favourite purple pen. He sat down and quickly wrote on his thigh before he could lose his nerve:

_Are you alright?_

*

Over the years Magnus had gotten used to the tingling warmth that encompassed his skin every time his Shadowhunter soulmate drew a new rune. The first few gave him a bit of a fright but now he just lets the feeling wash over him, then commits the new rune to memory. The real runes seem to fade quite quickly on his skin and for that he is thankful. It would be exhausting to have to hold up a glamour all the time. So far he’d managed to hide the marks from everyone—the only people who knew were the ones that were there that first night.

His soulmate had stopped writing and drawing to him so often. Those marks would hang around for a few days before fading completely from his skin. Magnus guiltily blamed himself for the lack of communication, after all, why would someone want to write when no reply was coming? His soulmate hadn’t stopped completely, though. One day, inexplicably, a perfectly rendered bowl of fruit appeared on his abdomen. On that day, he cancelled all his meetings and went back to bed.

*

Alec was right. Beating on the punching bag made him feel a lot better—less angry but also like he could take on the world. He took this feeling with him to his pen collection and gleefully chose a lurid pink.

It was completely and utterly juvenile of course, but it was worth it for the apoplectic look on his father’s face when he spotted the rainbow of anatomically correct (and some not so correct) penises all over his forearms at dinner that evening.

He didn’t notice the message on his thigh.

*

“Raphael, I think my soulmate is a boy.” Magnus flounced into the du Mort and dramatically threw himself onto the couch next to Raphael, almost making him spill his O-negative all over his pristine suit jacket.

Raphael glared at him, wiping up the dribble of blood that had made its way down his glass. “And why do you think that? Has he told you? Are you writing again?”

Magnus waved a hand, letting blue sparks fly at Raphael to remove a drop he had missed on his jacket. “No, no, well sort of—I mean yes I started writing to him again, did you know you can feel your soulmate’s emotions if they’re really strong? I didn’t.”

“Magnus.”

“All of a sudden I had this intense anxiety for utterly no reason, and Catarina informed me that it was probably my _soulmate_ having an _anxiety attack._ So I wrote to him to see if he was okay and—“

“ _Magnus.”_

“And he didn’t exactly reply to my message but, look—“ He unceremoniously shoved his shirtsleeves up and threw his arms out to the sides.

Raphael stared.

Magnus’ arms were covered in crudely drawn penises, all different shapes and sizes and in various levels of detail. Every colour of the rainbow and more were represented. They were all in different stages of arousal (or not at all) and some looked like what schoolboys would carve into their wooden desks at school.

“Oh, my God.” Raphael was stunned. “Is he _twelve?”_

“Actually I believe he is around sixteen. His runes show up as they get drawn and I think they usually get their first one at ten and that was five or six years ago now, I can’t remember exactly but Raphael. Raphael, I have dicks on my arms.” Magnus felt like he was going around the bend. This was just too much.

Raphael was smirking now. “Perhaps wear long sleeves for the foreseeable future?”

“That isn’t helpful, Raphael. Do you have anything helpful to say?” Magnus pulled his sleeves back down, resolving to find shirts with sleeves long enough to cover his fingers if he had too. He could not have sudden dick appearances during client meetings. He would have to move to Siberia and he didn’t cope well with the cold.

Raphael sighed the sigh of the put-upon. “Fine. This might make you feel better. My soulmate started writing to me a few years back.”

“You never said!” Magnus sat back down and scooted over next to Raphael. “Tell. Me. Everything.”

Raphael undid his cufflinks, carefully rolled up a sleeve, and held his wrist out for Magnus to look at closely.

“A Star of David.”

Raphael gestured for him to look a bit closer.

“Runes.” His eyes widened and he traced the faded mark on Raphael’s wrist. “This one’s _Agility_ , I’ve been learning them all.”

“Yes,” said Raphael, rolling his sleeves back down and re-clasping the cufflink. “That one appeared early this evening, and will likely disappear in a few hours. I assume yours do that too when they are real runes, not just drawings?”

“Yes,” Magnus agreed. “My Shadowhunter is absolutely covered in them, I’m glad they don’t stay black for long.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment.

“A Catholic vampire, soulmates with a Jewish Shadowhunter.”

“You have a rainbow of penises on your arms.”

They looked at each other and couldn’t keep their faces straight for any longer.

*

When Magnus got home and undressed for bed, he noticed he had a proper reply in his soulmate’s neat, round print.

_I’m ok._

_Sorry about the penises._

_Penii?_

_There was an Incident._

After that, they began to regularly draw to each other. His Shadowhunter appeared to be a fan of Shakespeare and left sonnets for him to read. Magnus drew an awful lot of cats. As the years went by they got bolder; Magnus drew the Brooklyn bridge, stretched along his bicep.

In response, his soulmate drew the imposing facade of the New York Institute, and his breath caught.

*

Something about soulmate drawings that had annoyed Magnus his whole life was that one could not intentionally write their name and address or date and time to meet. The strange magic of soulmates, for some reason unknown to scientists, Shadow world and mundane alike, relied upon chance. Magnus disliked this. Statistically, only seventy-five per cent of the population even had a soulmate, though Magnus was unsure about how they came to that conclusion. There were so many whose soulmate died before they were born, so how would they know that they were soulmate-less? For most of Magnus’ life, until twenty or so years ago, he thought that was what had happened to him. The science was flawed, and Magnus refused to believe he couldn’t tell his soulmate who he was.

And, of the (supposed) seventy-five per cent of people who _had_ a soulmate, only half of them actually met them. And this was what ground Magnus’ gears the most. He did not go through over five hundred years of heartbreak only to be denied his soulmate when they finally turned up.

He had tried it, of course, writing his full name in a place his Shadowhunter could not possibly miss it:

(He felt a little silly writing his own name on his cheek but needs must).

He eventually had to accept that it didn’t work, because his soulmate wrote to him as normal for the whole month after, no mention of the obnoxious lettering across his face. He would have to be more subtle.

*

Alec spent his twenty-third birthday lying on the grass under a tree in Central Park, by himself. It was exactly what he wanted and his siblings had finally left him to it after dragging him out to breakfast at their favourite cafe. Of course, they had only left him on the proviso that he _would_ go out clubbing with them to celebrate that night, which he really didn’t want to do but it was easier than arguing. He would put in an hour or so, drink something disgusting and alcoholic, dance for one song with Isabelle and maybe Jace and slink off home to his comfortable bed and a teetering pile of books.

His soulmate had taken to writing quotes from classic stories, ever since Alec started leaving him Shakespeare. Books weren’t read for fun in the Institute (especially not the types of books his soulmate was quoting) so Alec went and got himself a library card. The last few years of book quotes had assured Alec that his soulmate was, in fact, a man (or at least shared his proclivities—he’d learned a lot about gender and sexuality in the past months), something that brought him quite a lot of relief. Don’t get him wrong, he would not have minded a woman as a soulmate, for he knew that platonic soulmates were quite common and he would be perfectly happy with that and find romantic love somewhere else, but deep down he was worried his soulmate would be a female romantic soulmate and he really was just going through a phase.

The latest hurriedly but neatly scrawled book quote was from a novel that Alec had immediately gone and sought out at the library:

“It comes to this then: there have always been people like me and always will be, and generally they have been persecuted.”

Alec had made it halfway through E.M. Forster’s classic before having to drag himself out to hunt demons. Again. But not before sending his soulmate in return:

“Love had caught him out of triviality and Maurice out of bewilderment in order that two imperfect souls might touch perfection.”

His siblings would absolutely die laughing if they knew he was writing sappy messages like that to his soulmate, although he was almost positive that Jace wrote prose far more flowery to his soulmate than he’d like to admit. Alec was kind enough to keep it to himself (and if he was saving it all up for the perfect moment to spill, that was no one's business but his).

Alec was perfectly aware he was falling in love with an almost-stranger over book quotes and drawings of cats and he was determined to find a way to meet this person. He had tried writing his name on his knee:

And got no reply of course. He knew what the science said but refused to believe it until then. He would have to try something a bit more subtle.

In the meantime, he was twenty-three, laying in the speckled sunlight just as he wanted, and content. He would meet his soulmate eventually, he had faith in that, at least. Before he dozed off he drew what was quite possibly the ugliest birthday cake possible on his calf in the space between two runes:

*

Across the river in his Brooklyn loft, Magnus’ knees almost buckled in relief as he counted the candles on the crudely drawn cake and confirmed that his soulmate was, indeed, an adult.

*

“Do I really have to dress up?”

Alec was awkwardly perched on the end of his bed in his underwear while Isabelle rifled through his wardrobe looking for what, he wasn’t quite sure. Jace had escaped her clutches by claiming he had to show the new Shadowhunter around. Clary Fairchild had arrived from Idris the previous week after requesting a transfer to the New York Institute. Alec was always happy to have more Shadowhunters—New York was a very large city—and after reading through her stellar records had signed off on it. He was also now pretty sure she was Jace’s artist soulmate, although neither of them seemed to have noticed yet. He’d give them a couple more days before handing them a pen each.

“Yes you have to ‘dress up’,” Isabelle snarked at him from beneath a pile of black t-shirts. “Do you own _anything_ that isn’t black and old and worn through? You won’t catch anyone's eye if you turn up wearing a t-shirt with holes in it.”

“I’m not intending on catching anyone’s eye,” Alec told her, again. It as an argument they’d been having for years now and she had yet to give up.

“Yes I know, blah blah I’m waiting for my soulmate blah.” She looked at him pointedly. “That doesn’t mean you can’t have a little bit of fun you know.”

“I know Izzy. I have fun with you guys.”

“That’s not the type of fun I mean and you know it!” She threw his least faded black t-shirt at his head.

“Hey! I don’t slut-shame you guys! That’s your choice. So don’t, don’t…um.”

“Prude-shame?”

Alec sent her a withering glare.

“Okay! Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry.” She even looked genuine, but Alec knew she’d pester him about it again in a few months. “I just want you to be happy, big brother.”

Alec got up and pulled her into a side-hug. “I am happy Iz, I promise.”

She squeezed him back and returned to his wardrobe, this time starting on pants. “You might actually _meet_ your soulmate at the club tonight you know!” She found a pair of almost-new black skinny jeans buried in the depths and held them up, nodding in satisfaction. He eyed them dubiously before yanking them up his legs. He was vaguely thankful that he didn’t plan on having any biological children as he squeezed his junk into the denim, carefully zipping the fly.

“I’m not sure my soulmate would be the clubbing type,” he said, glaring at himself in the mirror and running his fingers through the dark mop on his head. It’ll do.

“Why not?” Isabelle said, attacking his head with hands covered in some sort of goopy crap that smelled of coconuts. “They say opposites attract for a reason.” He swatted her sticky hands away. “Whoever he is, a clubber or not, I’m sure he’s perfect for you. That’s the point, isn’t it?” Her words were met with silence. “Alec?”

“I'm scared,” he blurted.

“Oh, Alec.”

“And it’s so stupid because like, a platonic soulmate would be awesome even though I’ve already got that with Jace even though that’s on purpose, and I keep having this recurring nightmare, Iz, that it _is_ a romantic soulmate, but, it’s a woman. And that’s not what I’m scared of either, mostly I’m worried that, I’m worried that…”

“You’re worried dad was right.”

“How did you know?”

“I know you, Alec. And he’s not right, you are letting him manipulate you and he isn’t even here.” Robert had decided his young blonde secretary was more important to him than his family. Alec thought it was good riddance but he knew Isabelle missed him sometimes, they had always been close. She reached up to put a few stray hairs back in place with the still-sticky goop. “Besides, sexuality is fluid. Whatever happens, happens.”

He sighed heavily. “When did you get so wise?”

“Since I clawed my way out of mom’s womb, duh.” She prodded him on the shoulder. “Also I’ve seen the sappy quotes and drawings of eggplants he sends you. They don’t exactly scream ‘traditional cishet woman’.”

Alec went beet-red as he wondered which quotes she had read. Some were raunchier than others and those were from books he nearly didn’t have the nerve to look for. She was of course, right. He wouldn’t tell her that though. He hugged her again and said, “come on, mom wants to buy us all dinner before we go out. Go find Jace and Max. See if Clary wants to come along.”

“Can we tell embarrassing stories about Jace?”

“Obviously.”

“I know exactly which one I’ll start with. Wear your dress shoes!”

“I’m wearing my boots!”

*

The minute Isabelle pushed her way to the bar at Pandemonium, she was being served. Her and Jace each shoved a shot of tequila in his hands and looked at him expectantly. He threw them back, one after the other, eyes watering at the burn and the horrific taste.

“God, why,” he spluttered, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spreading from his belly to his limbs. He was also fairly certain his tastebuds had shrivelled up and died.

“It’s the quickest way to get you to loosen up, bro,” Jace said, hitting him on the shoulder a bit too hard. “Now let’s go find you a man!”

Alec groaned and closed his eyes. “Jace.”

“What? What about that one?” he said, pointing at a random Seelie who was ostensibly good looking—Jace usually had taste after all—but Alec was really not interested.

Alec gestured blindly at Clary who was looking at them both with a raised eyebrow.

“You want to dance with Clary? What the hell bro?” Jace looked offended.

“No, you moron,” Alec said. Jace was incredibly thick-headed sometimes. “You just outed me to a new person!”

A guilty realisation dawned on Jace’s face. “Sorry man, I guess she’s just fit in with us so well already I forgot?”

Clary cleared her throat loudly to be heard over the bass. “It’s okay Alec, I won’t spread it around. I kind of already figured anyway since you were staring at—“ Alec slapped a hand over her mouth.

“No.”

Clary kept talking, and when Alec wouldn’t remove his hand, she licked it. “Gross! Are you twelve?” Alec glowered at her but he wasn’t really feeling it. It was his birthday and for once he was in the mood to celebrate. There was a swirling purple _happy birthday_ on the top of his foot which he suspected was enough to keep his mood elevated for a while. He turned to look at his guilt-ridden brother, wiping his hand on his jeans. “It’s cool Jace, she does fit in. Just ask next time.” He smiled with far too many teeth. “And I want more tequila, one shot from each of you—“ he pointed at Jace, then Clary, “—and top-shelf, not that lighter fluid shit you gave me before.” Jace groaned, fumbling for his wallet.

Alec turned his back to the bar to look out over the club. As far as clubs went, Pandemonium was one of the least offensive that his siblings dragged him to. It was mainly a Downworlder club, though Shadowhunters were allowed in so long as they left their weapons at the coat check. Alec felt mostly comfortable here—as comfortable as he could be in a room crowded with loud people and flashing lights—not having to hide his runes or make himself invisible to mundanes and therefore have to be careful not to knock into anyone. Invisible people tended to freak mundanes out. Any mundane just assumed his runes were gang tattoos and left him alone, which suited him just fine.

“Savour it, brother,” Jace suddenly said, shoving two shot glasses at him. “This cost me a pretty penny.”

Alec smirked and threw the first one down out of spite. The second one he definitely savoured. It went down much easier, warm instead of burning, actual flavour instead of petrol. Isabelle had already dragged Clary off to the dance floor where they were dancing together surrounded by people of all kinds who couldn’t take their eyes off them. Jace was leaning on the bar next to him watching them as well, cradling his own drink in his hands.

“You know,” he said. “I think she might be my soulmate.”

Alec was surprised though he tried not to show it. He thought for sure that Clary would be the one to notice first. “You should go cut in then,” Alec replied, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“You knew?”

“I started suspecting a couple days ago. You had a week before I locked you both in a supply closet.”

“You could have said!”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

They laughed and bumped shoulders. “True,” Jace said before finishing his drink and pushing himself off the bar. “Go find someone to dance with—you don’t have to do anything more but I promise dancing isn’t cheating on your soulmate.”

“I know. Maybe I will.” Alec had no intention of finding someone to dance with, he was happy here at the bar watching his siblings and their friends have fun. 

*

It was only a twinkling of an idea when the birthday cake appeared but by the time Magnus arrived at his club for the evening, it had almost fully formed.

“Bernard,” he greeted the bouncer on the door. “Let me know if any Shadowhunters visit tonight would you?” The request wasn’t a usual one, but Bernard barely twitched.

“Sure thing, boss,” he said.

“Thank you, Bernard. I’ll be upstairs.” He nodded and made his way upstairs to his favourite seat. He could see the whole club from there and could easily make his way down to the dance floor if he so desired.

He didn’t have to wait long for Bernard to pass the message that there were four Shadowhunters at the main bar, though by the time he got there, there was only one remaining. He smiled. Lucky him.

“Hey Pretty Boy, what are you drinking?” It wasn’t his best line, far from it in fact, but the man was so good looking his usual suaveness left him for dust.

*

Alec’s alcohol tolerance had never been amazing and after four shots of tequila in an hour he was definitely a bit fuzzy around the edges. It was the good kind of intoxication, where everything feels lighter, the stress from the week melts away (albeit temporarily) and his muscles feel looser. He smiled in Jace’s general direction when he noticed he hadn’t wasted any time and was now dancing with Clary. They both had huge smiles on their faces as they swung each other around like children. Isabelle had disappeared into the crowd but he wasn’t worried. A person sidled up to him, pressing up against his arm and he tried not to jump in surprise. He wasn’t sure he was entirely successful.

“Hey Pretty Boy, what are you drinking?”

Alec turned to look at him and was instantly entranced. The man’s smooth copper skin was complimented with dark eyeshadow and liquid liner, the sides of his head were shaved almost-smooth with the rest of his hair spiked up high. Alec had the sudden urge to poke one of the spikes to see if it pricked his finger. “I think you are the pretty one in this situation,” he said, immediately slapping a hand over his own mouth. “Oh my god, what did I just say?”

The man laughed delightedly and held out a hand. “I’m Magnus Bane.”

Alec took the offered hand, the metal of Magnus’ rings a cool counterpoint to the warmth of his palms. He hoped they weren’t sweaty. “The High Warlock.” He knew his name but they had never had the opportunity to meet. “I’m Alexander Lightwood. Alec.”

“Youngest head appointed to the New York Institute,” Magnus replied. “And now that we have been formally introduced, may I buy you a drink, Alexander?”

“Um, okay,” Alec said. He was positive he looked like a deer caught in headlights. He couldn’t for the life of him think of why this beautiful man— _the High Warlock—_ would want to talk to him.

“What would you like?”

“Whatever you’re having?” Alec had suddenly forgotten everything he’d ever drunk in his life.

Magnus turned and held up two fingers to the bartender and there were a few minutes of companionable silence as the drinks were made. Magnus handed one to Alec. “A gin martini. Enjoy.” He smiled and snapped his fingers, purple flames bursting into existence across the top of Alec’s drink before fizzling out.

Alec took a too-large sip and coughed. He actually didn’t know what a gin martini was, but now he did. He swore he could hear Isabelle laughing at him.

“Small sips, darling,” Magnus said, a quirk of his lips above his own glass.

Alec tried again with a much smaller sip as advised. It was a lot better, sharp and floral and sweet all at the same time, enhanced by the twist of orange peel he could see in the liquid. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s nice.”

Magnus’ eyes shone with amusement. “You don’t drink much do you?”

“Not really no.”

“What brings you to my club then, Alexander?”

Alec liked the way his full name sounded when Magnus said it. The only people who called him that before were his parents and it usually meant he was in trouble. Now, he wasn’t in trouble but he felt scrutinised like Magnus was able to see right to his insides and peel apart all his layers to get to his secrets. Strangely, he didn’t mind. “It’s my twenty-third birthday and my siblings and a friend decided I needed to go dancing to celebrate,” he finally said, drinking some more of his martini, enjoying the way it added to the warmth of tequila in his limbs. Or maybe that was his proximity to Magnus.

A smile lit up Magnus’ face, crinkling the silvery glitter at the corners of his eyes. “Well, happy birthday Alexander. Would you like to dance?” Magnus tilted his head to gaze warmly at Alec, waiting for his answer.

“Oh! Um,” Alec scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I’m waiting for my soulmate?” Magnus’ smile fell slightly and Alec wanted nothing more than to make it come back.

“My apologies,” he said. “Are they far off? I’m sure they won’t mind me keeping you company while you wait.”

Alec flushed as red as Clary’s hair. “Oh uh, I haven’t met him yet.” This was mortifying. “I mean that I’m, you know, _waiting_ for him.”

“Ah,” said Magnus, knowingly. “No shame in that, Alexander. He won’t mind if you dance with me for a while, not if he truly deserves you.” He held out a hand for Alec to take, but didn’t push. To both their surprise, Alec took it. He truly hadn’t intended on dancing at all tonight but there was something drawing him to Magnus and he couldn't help but want to know what it was.

Magnus tugged him out into the throng of people. Alec's hands found their way to his hips and Magnus wound his arms around his neck. “I’m not the greatest at dancing,” Alec half-shouted to be heard above the music.

“You’re doing just fine, darling!” Magnus returned.

Alec felt like they just fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle finding each other after being forgotten in a dusty old box for too long.

“I have a soulmate I haven’t met yet too,” Magnus suddenly blurted with uncharacteristic awkwardness as they were moving to the music. “He’s a Shadowhunter.”

Alec’s heart gave a lurch, he didn’t know why. “Oh?” he asked. “How did you uh, take that?”

Magnus threw his head back and laughed and Alec fuzzily thought it sounded like a waterfall. “Oh darling,” he started. “I didn’t take it well at all. I ignored him for five years until his rune ceremony.”

Alec let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and bent his head to rest on Magnus’ shoulder. His heart was pounding double time. “It must have been weird, writing to a kid.”

Magnus subconsciously rubbed his cheek on Alec’s hair. “It was. To be honest, that was what I worried about the most, not that he is a Shadowhunter. Though I have been known for my general distaste of Shadowhunters in the past.”

Alec smiled and pulled him closer. “I hope I haven’t given you a bad impression?” he asked. _Oh God, what am I saying?_

“Not at all.” Magnus threaded his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Alec’s neck.

“My soulmate,” Alec began haltingly. “He’s not a Shadowhunter. I think his favourite colour is purple. He has really fancy handwriting, I feel sorry for him being covered in my chicken scratch. He writes me these long beautiful quotes—I didn’t know what they were so I typed them into Google, and it turns out they’re all from _books_ —sorry you don’t want to hear this.” Alec flushed.

“On the contrary,” Magnus said, eyes lit up happily. “Please keep going.”

Alec laughed. “Okay. He’s completely obsessed with cats. I think, I think I love him already and not just because of the whole predestined soulmate thing, but I feel like I would choose him on purpose, you know?” They were dancing so closely now, Alec’s senses were filled with Magnus from the scent of his cologne and the makeup on his face, and some sort of smoky incense on his clothes. He smelled like he was home.

“My soulmate,” Magnus said after a moment of quiet. His heart was thumping so hard and fast he would be surprised if Alec couldn’t feel it through their clothes. “He practised his runes until they were perfect, and then practised them some more. I am intimately acquainted with all of his real runes and where exactly they are on his body.” Magnus knew he was playing with fire; he could be wrong. He refused to think about that just yet though.

Alec’s breath hitched and he pulled Magnus impossibly closer. “Where are they,” he said. “His runes.” Magnus had only to turn his head to speak directly into his ear, sending goosebumps up and down his spine.

“Well the most obvious one, _Deflect,_ right along the side of his neck here.” He reached up and smoothed his palm down Alec’s throat, tilting his head. “His very first rune, _Voyance,_ here.” His fingers danced over the back of Alec’s hand. “ _Angelic power,_ the first one he practised. _Endurance, Accuracy, Stealth._ ” He pressed his palm over each rune on Alec’s body. They were hardly dancing anymore, Alec’s hands gripping Magnus’ waist so tightly he was vaguely concerned he’d leave fingerprints. “ _Parabatai,_ ” he said finally, stroking his thumb over Alec’s hip.

Alec’s eyes searched Magnus’ face in wonder. “It’s you,” he said, barely any sound coming out.

Magnus smiled softly. “If you’d like more proof, I currently have a birthday cake with twenty-three candles drawn on my leg.”

Alec shook his head and cupped Magnus’ face. “It’s really you,” he said again.

“Get it, brother!” an obnoxious voice yelled from somewhere near them. Alec just rolled his eyes and flipped him his middle finger.

“We may have to get rid of the _Parabatai_ rune somehow,” he said, smiling. “Can I kiss you?” he asked shyly, though he didn’t feel nervous around Magnus at all. Being near him brought Alec a sense of calm, like a warm bath after a long day, or the pleasant ache in his muscles after a good workout.

Magnus reached up to tug Alec’s head down towards him. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Alexander.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.” They were hardly a breath apart.

“It was worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Book quotes are from E.M. Forster's 'Maurice' which I haven't actually read yet so if they're super out of context that's why.


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